Take a gander at this photo of my massive stockpile of yogurt containers from the past few months (they're awaiting their trip to a special recycling facility that accepts #5 plastic) and you might understand just one of the reasons I wanted to try making my own yogurt. I am hoping to soften the weekly blow to my wallet, lessen my impact on the environment by cutting down on the number of plastic containers I purchase, and have greater control over the ingredients in the yogurt I eat. I'd also like to recapture a little taste of my childhood when I regularly ate yogurt made by my mother (never mind that she asked, "Why don't you just buy yogurt?" when I talked about my dreams of making my own). On the more populist than sentimental front, I'd like to "stick it to the man" by harvesting the "patented" probiotic in Activia to make my own yogurt with local and organic ingredients (how in heck can you patent bacteria?).

It was arguably the most influential medium of the 20th century, but television sure doesn't get a lot of respect from most people, much less serious scholar types. And among TV shows, food shows have long been relegated to the back of people's minds along with extended commercials for tomato sauce and having to spend time with your fusty grandmother canning beets.

I do not have a green thumb. Despite Food Editor Sarah Kagan's insistence that growing basil is nearly impossible to mess up, I've managed to kill at least three pots of it. So, when I received the Prepara Power Plant Mini ($40), which is an indoor, soil-less garden that promises plentiful plants without bugs, worms, or dirt, I was skeptical. Could I actually keep a plant alive, and at my desk no less? Eager to whip my under-achieving thumb into garden-growing shape, I decided to give the Power Plant a try.

Certain chemicals in asparagus can make your wine taste vegetal, grassy, or just plain rotten. No other ingredient, not even cheese or chocolate, is the target of such fear, disdain, and discussion. Asparagus has been likened to Kryptonite; it is the enemy, it ruins perfectly nice vino. But it's too delicious to ignore entirely. With the arrival of Spring, there's a growing chance you will have to deal with this dining dilemma. But how?

I tasted several asparagus dishes earlier this week (white and green, prepared in a variety of ways with all kinds of sauces) and then compiled a quick and easy list of tips, based on what I tried, to help you optimize the food or the wine, depending on where you like to start.

Recipe Tips to Make Asparagus Pair Better with Wine:1) Grill the asparagus so there's a char (perhaps steam or microwave it first)2) Cover it in sauce (cheese, hollandaise, etc.)3) Serve with a creamy dressing4) Look for thin spears, which may have less of that darned chemical

I was fascinated to read about your pet peeves when being served in a restaurant. Tomese hates loud background music, Alexanderone dislikes when waiters remove his plate before he is finished, leah55 hates when waiters pick up her glass by the rim (yuck, me too). However, a few former waiters defended their profession: Bmchose points out that "everyone has different tastes," and rLlinds07 reminds us that "it is unfair for people to enter a restaurant and become nasty, rude, impatient, and condescending."

When I have bad service, and I can surmise it is the waiter's fault, I will sometimes speak to the manager to alert him or her to the issue, but I still usually tip my standard 20 percent. Why? Because usually tips are pooled and I believe the whole waitstaff (which includes busboys and dishwashers) shouldn't be fined for the mistakes of one. But that's me. What about you? What is your standard tipping policy? What percentage do you usually give, and does that percentage rise or fall significantly if you have great or poor service?

Today is April 1, and 52 years ago today, the BBC broadcast one of the most famous April Fool's Day pranks of all time, leading hundreds of culinarily unsophisticated Britons to phone in asking how to grow their own spaghetti trees.

The BBC's response: "Place a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best."

Food, modern media and practical jokes ... it was only the beginning of a wonderful friendship that would see such notable events as ...

I'm a chocoholic. I admit it. I'm not a cocoa connoisseur, though. For expert advice and some delicious recipes, I turned to Emily Stone (pictured) at Chocolate in Context, a blog that takes its chocolate very seriously.

What do you like best about chocolate?I think the most wonderful discovery I've made about chocolate over the years is that good chocolate has so many interacting flavors that you really don't need to add a lot of other ingredients (or a lot of prep time) to the material that you have to start out with.

Do you have a favorite chocolate right now?If given my choice of chocolate building blocks, I'd use Steve DeVries's microbatch Costa Rican chocolate, Michael Recchiuti's 'semisweet' Valrhona blend, or Amano's Madagascar bar, which just won the gold medal at this year's Academy of Chocolate Awards in London.

Not everyone has a 93-year-old grandma who can explain the history behind an iconic dish and still cook it, too. Epicurious editor in chief Tanya Steel does, and the story of her "Nan" struck a chord with readers by fusing history, ancestry, and recipe development: Nan learned how to make pudding many decades ago in Wales from her mother, as a way to use stale bread during World War II when "food was scarce."

As it happens, I've been reading about another recipe-wielding woman from the early 1900s: Mary Gamble, who lived in a famous Arts-and-Crafts-style house designed by architects Charles and Henry Greene in 1908. Unlike Tanya's Nan, Mrs. Gamble was not worrying about rations. In fact, the recipes she wrote down were cataloged for her cooks.

The Gamble House Cookbook(Balcony Press, 175 pages, $30) features charming scans of actual recipes, handwritten by Mrs. Gamble, that are nearly 100 years old. In his introduction to the book, Mark Peel, chef-owner of Campanile in Los Angeles, marvels at the lack of instruction and nutrition ("no regard for calories or saturated fats"). He's reinterpreted the recipes, too, adding details so readers won't have to decipher Gamble's handwriting or cryptic instructions. To shed light on the making of sweetbreads, puddings, and cakes, for example, Peel established ingredient equivalents and amounts, cooking temperatures, and times. And he left out the head-scratching references to saleratus, loaf sugar, seeded raisins, and powdered chestnuts.

So which of the new releases was the staff favorite? The Caramel Macchiato had the boldest and most intense coffee flavor, as well as luscious thick swirls of sweet caramel, which contrasted nicely with the creamy vanilla ice cream.

The Java Chip Frappuccino, which was a touch creamier than the others, had nice bittersweet chocolate chunks. But there were criticisms: "This is not as coffee flavored as I would have imagined," announced one editor. Many agreed that this would be the ideal choice for someone who likes their coffee mild and not too sweet.

The Mocha Frappucino, comprising coffee and chocolate ice cream, was ultimately the most appealing to the eye because of its dark and tan contrasting colors. It also had editors commenting on how they prefer the ice cream version to the actual drink. On editor said, "It tastes like a Mocha Frap, but it's not as dramatically sweet...it's perfect."

The tasting ended with one editor's lament: "I just don't get why they don't sell their ice cream at their stores, I would certainly buy it."